


Spreading the Word

by Llama1412



Series: Underground Railroad [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23307718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: The story of an escape route for magic users spreads, slowly but surely, across Camelot.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Underground Railroad [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676164
Comments: 12
Kudos: 129





	Spreading the Word

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal Oct 2014. Posted unedited.  
> Part of my Underground Railroad series. It's not necessary to have read Underground Railroad: Escape Route first, but it might help.

The story started in a Western border town and spread slowly across Camelot as bards took up the story as their own. It was only a matter of time before it reached the capital city, though of course, no bard was foolish enough to tell the tale too close to the King's far-reaching ears.  
  
Merlin didn't often frequent taverns on the edges of town. As big as Camelot was, he was half a day's walk from the castle. Far enough, it seemed, for bards and listeners to shrug off the shroud of Uther's oppressive sentencing, and tell stories of magic and freedom.  
  
Arthur had organized a small hunt, just him, three knights, and a very reluctant Merlin. That was before the sky had opened upon them and released a torrent of rain and harsh winds. Perhaps that was why their party had gone unremarked upon, as they sat in a shadowed corner of the pub, huddled closely under large cloaks with hoods. As Merlin looked around the tavern, he noticed that they were far from the only ones whose figures were nearly shapeless under cloaks. And Arthur was in a rare mood, sullen and withdrawn, unwanting of the extra attention his presence would bring. And so it was with the Prince of Camelot, three Knights of Camelot, and the Prince's Manservant in attendance that the bard began his story.  
  
“Camelot was once a land fill with magic, a realm where Druids and sorcerers and townsmen lived in peace and harmony. That time, of course, has long since passed, but there are those who taste the memory of it in the air, who feel the earth's longing for times past under their feet. There are those who are born, and live, and die in Camelot in the shadow of that nostalgia. And they know, and their families know, that there are safer places to want for peace. There are safer realms that welcome magic, that employ magic in service to the king. Those realms would be infinitely safer, and yet, there always seems to be magic in Camelot.”  
  
At this point, the bard was holding court around the fireplace, with only a handful of attentive listeners. Merlin wished he could edge closer, not have to strain to hear his voice, but he didn't want to alert his companions. They were occupied with eating and keeping warm, and Merlin knew that drawing their attention to a story about magic would end disastrously.  
  
“They saw that there is magic in the very foundation of Camelot, that it seeps up from the ground and down from the sky and calls all who can hear it to its borders. Few are foolish enough to follow that call now, but in times past, many, many families came here for that call, settled down and spread roots. And even after the Purge, those families stay, because Camelot is their home.” The bard's voice was low and smooth, washing over its listeners gently. But now, it seemed to rise, not in tone or decibel, but in strength. His voice went deeper and seemed to hypnotically draw people in.  
  
“But what if there were a way to stay in Camelot without living under fear, under threat?” Merlin couldn't believe how many people appeared to be listening, entranced as a hunched old man spoke positively of everything they'd been taught to fear. But people didn't look scared, just curious, eager to hear the tale.  
  
“The Druid lands lie to the West, still within the old borders of Camelot, still within the boundaries of that magic, but no Knight would dare to cross into their lands. And, it is said, the Druids now welcome sorcerers and families and any fleeing threat. They have built a network, they say, a secret path to smuggle witches out of Camelot. Only those who are invited may safely travel this path, for if another dares, the earth's magic will rise from the ground and strike them down.” A shiver went through the room, and Merlin startled when Sir Benedict began to rise.  
  
“Peace.” Arthur said softly, and the knight froze in place. “It is a story, nothing more. Let the people have their entertainment.”  
  
“It is treasonous, sire!” Benedict protested, but even his voice remained soft, as if unwilling to interrupt the tale.  
  
“It's a story,” Arthur said, glancing around the room before his eyes settled on Merlin. “It's hardly as if there's a sorcerer here, taking notes. Stand down; it's just a story.”  
  
Merlin felt as if he could not look away, mug halfway to his mouth. He felt Benedict sink down to the bench beside him, grumbling, but he could not look away from Arthur.  
  
“This path, it is whispered, begins in the capital, here in this very city. No one knows who started it, who here dared to help sorcerers, but if one believes, then their heart is true and their intentions good, they will be able to find this person, this savior. And this savior will lead them to a land of magic, where the threat of execution is gone from their heads. And one day, many years from now, when Camelot has changed, they will be welcomed back with open arms, and Camelot will once again be at peace with the magic of the earth.”  
  
Arthur broke the spell, breaking his gaze from Merlin, and looking back at the bard. A polite applause had started, and the bard bowed off his hat, holding it out for appreciation. Within a moment, it seemed as if the whole place had emerged from a spell, and conversations swelled into existence. Parties of four, no longer staring at the bard, called for more food and drink, and the tavern returned to its previous mood, as if the story had never been told.  
  
But at Merlin's table, though they'd all resumed their meals, he felt as though he couldn't relax.  
  
“Presumptuous man, telling a story like that here.” Benedict griped.  
  
“He meant no harm,” Sir Leon said. “A bard earns their meals by weaving a tale, the more daring it is, the more they get paid. It's not like anything he spoke of is real.”  
  
“But shouldn't we have stopped him? He was spreading treason!”  
  
Arthur clapped his hand on Benedict's shoulder. “He wasn't encouraging anyone to use magic or work against Camelot. It was just a story. Imagine how boring it must get around here, without ridiculous tales to keep one amused.”  
  
Sir Bors snorted, “this far from the castle, it's not like there's much to do. And really, if a 'secret path' like that existed, don't you think we'd know about it? It's not as if some bard knows more than the King's intelligence network.”  
  
“It just seems wrong. You agree, don't you, Merlin?” Benedict nudged the servant.  
  
“Oh, um, I don't... I mean, it's not... um?”  
  
Arthur snorted. “Elegantly put, Merlin. Ready our horses. The rain is letting up; if we leave now, we can make it back before too late.”  
  
Merlin heaved himself up and went out to the stables they'd lodged the horses. “'Letting up', really?” The rain drizzled down on him. It was less windy than before, but riding with enough speed to return home quickly would ruin that. Maybe Arthur would be decent for a change and let him use the bath in his chamber to warm up after the bone-chilling ride.


End file.
